Goatswood Blue
by Jo Nahmanaick
Summary: Before roaming the hallways of the former Aickman Funeral Home as a lonely ghost with a mission to fulfill, Jonah Aickman was a young man eager for his shot at life and love.  Please Read & Review...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

_In which the boy Jonah relates the current states of affairs in his life at the beginning of our story._

That morning, I arrived to the classroom early, and as always, settled down quietly, even meekly, as had become my custom in the last couple of years. I heard muffled laughter and murmurs, noticed the quick glances - even some glares- and then more laughter here and there. I was in no way conceited, but I knew it all had to do with me; it just felt that way. I looked up to the blackboard and there it was, the reason for the general entertainment. In big bold letters was written: "Jonah Aickman is going to hell!" When my classmates realized I had seen it, laughter bursted.

"A-men , brother!", somebody said aloud and the others thought it hilarious. I saw amongst the crowd a few sympathetic faces, but no one came after me when I just picked up my books and lunch and left the classroom, blushing, embarrassed. I would wait outside until class started. I wondered, if I were a different person, what would I had done? Go firmly up front and erase it, or pick a fight? Then again, if I were a different person, none of this would had happened. Hypocrites, more than half of them had been with their families to my house, to see the "marvels" and "make contact", as it was called. Well, damn them to hell. They were only a clique, but that little fraction that delighted in tormenting me made themselves felt like a quake. The others were a silent, or indifferent, majority.

Most kids at school treated me fairly, were even nice, but generally they wouldn't get close to me, I could feel their discomfort around me, because they didn't know how to treat me. Some were even fearful, as if I could read their minds and curse them if I were displeased or just burst into a malevolent spree and kill them all with my stare. But to be fair, I didn't reach out to anyone either. I was naturally shy, but that wasn't the matter; I had the notion on my head that I couldn't have friends. Even with all this, after the bell rang and the teacher had come into the classroom, I made myself go back inside and sit at my desk. I heard a whisper coming from my left side.

"Hey, Aickman...", I heard my neighbor from the desk in the next line calling. "Don't mind 'em, these shits-for-brains; they're just a bunch of apes!" I nodded in agreement stupidly, half stunned at the unexpected show of support, with a lopsided grin.

The "Jonah Aickman is going to hell!" thing was a very stupid prank, but it was another drop of water hitting the rock. I was tired of all that. That evening at the kitchen table, during dinner, Ramsay Aickman noticed my aloofness and gloom, not that I was usually cheerful around him,but he noticed I wasn't been a good audience to his talking.  
"Jonah. Jonah!"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Son, what's the matter?", he asked in a tone that sounded more business-like than concerned. Every time he called me "son", I wished he bited his tongue.  
"It's...it's school sir."  
"Trouble with your studies, your teachers?", he asked dutifully.  
"No, sir."  
"Then what is it?"  
"Someone wrote on the board that I was going to hell..."  
"And you worry about that? Pay no mind...", he easily dismissed my worries.  
"But..."  
"Besides", he interrupted me (why would I think I could share my troubles with Ramsay Aickman?), "this it's going to be your last semester at school."

Well, that was news to me, I had another year before graduating; he must have had it wrong.  
"I graduate next year, sir."  
"You don't need anymore schooling if you're going to be my apprentice full time," Ramsay Aickman informed me.  
The back of my mouth dried, the air from my lungs coming up hot, and I could feel the blood draining from my face. Not that I would miss the pranks, the tauntings and the name calling, but school was an outlet and a ticket out of this house, this life. Until now, I still clung to the thin hope that I would be going to college. It didn't had to be Yale; actually, any other place than here, the better for me. But Ramsay Aickman had already decided my future; I was going to become a mortician. And in this house, his one-way, conceited, stubborn decisions were law. Just like that...

I was seventeen, almost a grown man, but wanted to cry like a child. I felt my future slipping from my fingers like grains of sand. Nonetheless, I kept my mouth shut and stuffed myself enough with food so that it would be convincing when I excused myself from the table because I was full. There was no point in arguing, I always lost, but I had enough pride left in me to not beg and plead.  
"Something you want to say, Jonah?", he said with a stone face, but I saw the glint of relish in overpowering me in his eyes.  
"No, sir, I'm good", I answered with all the dignity I could muster.  
"Good; that's what I thought.", he casually dismissed my answer.  
I rose from the table with the excuse of getting ready for that night's session, scraped the left overs to the trash can, left the dish on the sink, and made a beeline for my bedroom.

* * *

I let the warm water fill the bathtub until about half its capacity, and after undressing, climbed into it. With my hands, I scooped some water and poured it over my head, trying to disperse that feeling of impending doom I felt. My stare was fixed blankly on the water, without really seeing it, and the droplets of water rushed from my hair down to my face. I felt their warmth down my cheeks, my sight blurred, and I couldn't tell where the water droplets had ended and my quiet tears had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter I

_In which we first witness the capacities our protagonist possesses._

The room was fixed up by sundown. Those dreadful curtains, faded and depressing, already cloistered the room, making it feel like the inside of a shoe box. The camera was set directly towards the seat I was to occupy later, so I would be photographed like the side-show freak I sometimes felt I was. Now, Aickman wanted to add another night to our "spiritual evenings"... I'd rather drink lye.

In my bedroom, perched with my leg up on my windowsill, I watched as the last lingering light faded from the sky, and I wanted to fade and disappear with it. Still, I got up from where I was, combed my hair -although I didn't know for what purpose, it always got disheveled anyway-, and fastened my tie. I heard automobiles parking in front of the house, tonight's guests had arrived.  
I had to will myself to leave my room and head downstairs to meet and greet as polite society expected. I walked the hallway as one awaiting execution, hoping for a last minute pardon from the governor, but I knew that wouldn't happen when judge, executioner and governor where all one and the same, namely Ramsay Aickman.

" Ah, here's our wonder boy!", said Ramsay Aickman, the ring master, to our incoming guests, as I walked down the staircase.  
"Jonah, dear", said Mrs. Greer, the grieving widow that had come yet for the third time in six months seeking our services, as she approached to hold my hand in her matronly one. "We are ever so grateful, Evan and I. We brought you a little something", she added, handing me a long, narrow box, the look on her face indicating me to open it right there and then. It was a new tie. Yee-pee...  
"Thank you very much, ma'am", I muttered embarrassed.

"Mr. Aickman, I hope you don't mind I bought a special guest", the lady gracefully asked.  
"Not at all", replied Aickman, equally courteous, as Evan, Mrs. Greer's adult son,escorted a stunning middle aged woman into the house.

She looked the way you expected motion pictures star to look, but on closer inspection, there was something too made up and exaggerated about her appearance. She wore the standard double-strand of pearls and fur stole of elegant, modern women, but her bobbed hair ended in crunched, stiff curls just above the jawline, her lipstick and rouge where a few notches away from clownish and her perfume assaulted my nostrils.  
"This is Madame Olga Simeonova, Russian expatriate and psychic medium", Mrs. Greer introduced her to us. At the mention of the Madame's alleged psychic ability, Aickman's face sombered for a second, but in a moment he was his good-host persona again. Besides, her gift had yet to be demonstrated in front of us. Because Aickman and I knew the real deal -heck, I was the real deal-, he and I were quite skeptic of anyone claiming any supernatural ability in an age when you could push fakes and phonies away with a shovel.

Now, what really caught my attention was what - or rather, who- happened next. A girl about my age trailed behind Evan and Madame Simeonova, almost running to catch up with the rest of the party, with a moment to spare before being introduced.  
"This is my ward, Florian Braganza", announced the Russian aristocrat.

Florian Braganza looked like a living doll. When she crossed the threshold, I actually thought she was a younger girl tall for her age, but that was because of her general appearance. She had unfashionably long hair for a girl her age, and even though her clothes had a modern silhouette, they were modest. Only a mauve colored scarf tied in the sailor style adorned the front of her pale brown blouse. She wore oxfords and a cloche hat on top of her dark caramel hair that curled at the ends. Her face was round, with a small mouth but full lips. But her eyes... striking; very big and very, very dark. They shone with a mischievous streak all of the sudden, then it disappeared. I knew I was staring, but she looked up at me a second too soon before I could turn my head away. Too late, but I pretended to be looking away anyways. Apart from a generous smile and a nod on the general direction as a way of greeting, she didn't say anything.

"Shall we?", Aickman invited, pointing with his arms the way to the séance room. Everybody took a place at the table, I sat last.  
"Join hands, please. Let's try to breathe at the same time. Leave out any mundane thoughts", I began, and then caught a glimpse of Florian Braganza lowering her head, biting her lower lip, trying to hide a smile, or perhaps suppressing laughter?

I continued, "Concentrate in the here and now." When I thought everyone was quiet and breathing at the same time, I began my work.  
"Beloved Thomas Greer, we call upon you tonight with open hearts. Reach upon us from the light, make your presence known and felt. Beloved Thomas Greer please come!"

It was difficult to place Thomas Greer's energy, his wave lenght competing to come through amid the demanding voices and the wandering shadows, those of the bounded. Every time it had become more difficult, specially in the last couple of months, to contact the dead. Thomas Greer found his way through, he came forward. After that, he took the lead, as if I was set aside and fell into a light sleep. I was aware of his presence, but I was not an active participant.

* * *

"Go find the light and inhabit in it", I told sluggishly to Thomas Greer as soon as I woke up from the trance. I hoped with all my heart that he had passed on for good and that his widow had finally found closure and let him be. The problem with contacting the dead was that it could become addictive, as some people, like Mrs. Greer here, weren't willing to let go, thus disturbing the rest of the departed. Mr. Greer had been dead already for a year and a half. This was the Greer's third visit, and I hoped the last. They were nice people though.

Mrs. Greer was patting her eyes with a handkerchief. Evan was working hard not to break down in sobs. Madame Simeonova was examining me intensely with her eyes, almost squinting to focus, but Florian Braganza was looking downwards to the table, busy trying not to snicker.

The Greers retired home early, but Madame Simeonova stayed behind, she said she wanted to talk "spiritual matters" with Aickman.  
"Jonah, take Miss Braganza to the kitchen for some refreshments."  
"Yes, sir", I said obligingly, "Please come this way, Miss Braganza."

I was as conscious of her presence as she followed me down the hallway to the kitchen as I was self-conscious. I tried to appear tranquil and relaxed as I led the way to the kitchen but felt I was failing miserably. I was tired and weak and slow, and a question nagged at the back of my head, _what was she thinking of me?_

When we got to the kitchen, I pulled out a pitcher full of iced tea from the ice-box. Mrs. McKinney, our daytime housekeeper, always left a pitcher full for me before she left for the day, specially on Fridays, when the spiritual sessions would take place. Mrs. McKinney was originally from Georgia, that's why we always had around the house Southern delicacies as well as New England staples. Three years ago, the doctor had told Aickman I was underweight for my age and height, but since Mrs. McKinney began working here, I caught on with other kids my age, even got some shape in my, um, behind. I placed the pitcher on the table and plummeted into a chair at the kitchen table, I was still shaky after the whole séance affair.

"Miss Braganza, would you be so kind and serve the tea? I don't feel very well right now.", I asked not even embarrassed anymore, I only wanted to rest.  
"Sure", she said, uttering her first words that evening, in a voice huskier than I would had imagined. "Where are the cups?"  
"Up there in the left cupboard", I said pointing with my fingers to the air while I rested my head on the table. She poured in a glass and placed it in front of me.  
"Thank you, Miss."  
"Do you need anything else?"  
"No, thank you."  
"Good, then I'll be outside having a smoke." _What? So much for the girl-doll!_ (I even pictured one of those porcelain dolls with baby features with a cigarette attached to its mouth.) I lifted my head from the table to watch as she was pulling a silver case from her purse from which she extracted a thin, brown cigarette. She looked for her lighter and exited through the kitchen door.

As she walked outside, in the place where she had been standing, the ghost of a woman stood now. The woman was grieving, I could tell, her affliction so deep, I felt a wave of pain crashing against my bones. Almost immediately I guessed who she was; same big eyes and full lips as Florian, the woman must had been her mother. In a second, she was standing just before me, screaming, it looked, at the top of her lungs, although I couldn't hear a sound. Just as quickly she returned to her original place, now pacing anxiously, gesticulating as if arguing with herself until suddenly she stopped to look into my direction, took a step forward and covered her eyes with her hand. Her shoulders quivered, as if crying. Then, I couldn't see her anymore.

Lots going on... but at the moment I couldn't concentrate on any of it. I felt the kind of small tiredness you feel after crying. My mother had taught me to pray, as she had taught me to channel my mediumnity, so I prayed to whatever god may listen, for Florian's mother's soul.

I went outside and found Florian exhaling the smoke of her cigarette, half hidden in between the slim trees in the backyard. She moved, and moonlight fell over her profile.  
"I brought you some tea. I hope it's not too cool here outside for you to drink it", I said handing her a glass.

She looked into the glass and murmured, "Funny, cold tea...", and grinned. "Thank you, you're a darling", Florian said casually. A rush of warm blood flushed my face. "Oh, you even got some color back on your face, Jonah; that's good. I can call you Jonah, right?"  
"Sure, you can call me Jonah, if you wish", I replied trying to keep my cool.

"You really play the part", she said slyly, almost whispering, as if sharing a secret, and flicking the ashes from her cigarette.  
"What do you mean...? Oh."  
"It's all right. It takes one to know another", she laughed.  
"One what?"  
"One _con _to know _another_."

I had suspected already that she didn't believed that what we've experienced on the séance was real, but I hadn't expected such frankness, much less a virtual confession to fraud. I didn't even know how to respond to that. People either believed or not, but they only had to sit at one of our sessions and be convinced... or not, but I had never had to defend my gift before, it was Aickman who always took care of arguing with the non-believers. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I could only chuckle in disbelief. Still, I wouldn't be playing the I-saw-your-mother card; that was a serious and sensitive matter.

"Well, I guess you are entitled to your own beliefs", I said finally, firmly.  
"Oh... So you really believe all this is for real?", she asked, surprised. "Wow!" She laughed. "I would think you're entitled to your opinion, then." Alright, she thought I believed, but still wouldn't accept any of tonight's communication was real.  
I said, "I'm not trying to convince you of anything, but I'm not a liar. I'm not a con artist. I am who I am and do what I do whether I like it or not."  
"I didn't mean to offend you, I'm truly sorry if I did", she apologized, but still assertive.  
"No, you did not. I apologize if I came down too strong." "It's okay", she said exhaling smoke again. "Do you want a cigarette?", she said, offering peace.  
"No, thank you, I don't smoke. Besides, Aickman it's always telling me to stay... _unpolluted_."  
"You refer to your dad as 'Aickman'?  
"That's because he's not my real father. My mother married him when I was five."  
"And your mother, where is she? I'm sorry, that was rude; I'm being a busybody!"  
"It's alright, Miss Florian; my mother's not here because she died about nine years ago, when I was eight."  
"I'm sorry to hear that... Mine died when I was twelve. I never knew my father."  
"So, you've been under Madame's care since your mother passed?"  
"If by 'under her care' you mean "stuck with her', then yes, almost", she said throwing away her cigarette and putting it off with the heel of her shoe a little too energetically. "Why are you been so honest with me, about Madame Simeonova and you being con artists?" I had finally asked the question that floated around in the air.  
"Because sometimes I can't keep my mouth shut! As you must have figured out already, I was convinced you were... _performing_ back there." She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Please, could you keep it a secret? Please...", she pleaded, apparently realizing the huge indiscretion she had committed. "I promise I will", I said to her evident relief. I was in no position to judge her, I had a dirty little secret of my own.

"I would love to think I don't care at all our little ruse was discovered, but right now I can't afford to... if I think twice about it," Florian said. "You would have your reasons, it's not my place to pass judgement. Actually, I'm not sure why, but I think I kind of understand your position. Never mind...", I said, discarding the thought before we dwelt further into the matter.

She had put her glass on the ground and began untangling an old swing from one of the trees. "May I?", she remembered to ask halfway into the process, and I nodded yes. She continued, then put her right knee on the swing and pushed herself with the opposite foot.

"So, Jonah of Goatswood, what do people do around here for fun?"  
"I don't know, go to the movie theater, sports, I guess... whatever people do for fun anywhere else..."  
"And what do_ you_ do for fun?"  
"I read... a lot. I'm busy most of the time with school and work. I used to go swimming and sketch, but I haven't got much time for any of those lately..."  
"Well, that's a darn pity! You should be out having more fun."  
"Easier said than done..."  
"Life's too short! Besides, I need someone to show me around town."  
"Is that so?"  
"Can't blame me for trying... But I mean it, you should have more fun now that you're young."  
"I'll see what I can do, Granny Florian. And you, what do you like to do?"  
"Let's see... well... I don't know... I think I like to do whatever comes along..."  
"That's not fair! I told you what I like..."  
"Okay... I like to take walks, I like to read novels and magazines, and I", she seemed to subdue her attitude a notch for a moment but returned to her unabashed demeanor again, "I like to sing."  
"To sing? What voice?"  
"Contralto."  
"Sing something."  
I thought she would act coy and come up with a excuse not to sing right away, like most people do when they pretend modesty, but she stopped the swing and started humming in different tones, and then sang something like this:

_" I hate to see that evening sun go down,_  
_I hate to see that evening sun go down,_  
_'Cause, my baby, he's gone left this town _

_Feeling tomorrow like I feel today __If I feel __tomorrow like I feel today __I'll pack my truck and make my give-a-way..."_[1]

"Voilá!", she said making a grand gesture and taking a bow.  
"That was pretty nifty", I complimented her with a small applause.  
"Thanks a bunch, you make a lovely audience."

At that moment the kitchen door flung open and Aickman casted his shadow over the kitchen door steps. "Come on inside, children, the ladies are leaving."  
"Better not keep Nelly waiting...", Florian said taking up her glass from the ground.  
"Who's Nelly?"  
"None other than Madame Olga Simeonova, of course", she giggled.  
"So, if she's Nelly, then who is Florian?"  
"Clever boy!", she said, but didn't answer my question., only kept walking.  
"What is your real name?", I whispered hurriedly before we got within Aickman's hearing.

She stopped to look at me real serious, as if I had asked something inappropriate, then that mischief of which she seemed to be full, flashed again fiercely.  
"I might tell you one day." And just like that, she walked away.

[1]_Opening lyrics to the song St. Louis Blues, by W.C. Handy, first published in 1914._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter II

_A Universal Mother_

Now that Florian Braganza and Madame Simeonova had left, the house stood quiet. Without being asked, I immediately took up cleaning duties. I straightened cushions, picked up empty glasses and swept the floor. Yes, Aickman helped too, but he seemed deep in thought and kept a stone face. More than usual. I was working vigorously, still wired after my meeting with Florian Braganza.

"Good night, sir. I'm going to bed now", I said as soon as I was done, and started towards the stairs.  
"Jonah, what were you talking about with that girl?" His tone was suspicious. Had he guessed what the ladies did for a living? Before I stalled thinking about the possibilities, I came up with a simple answer.  
"Nothing important, sir. She wanted to know what people in this town do for fun. She had the notion that I could show her the town." Okay, that sounded pretty innocent and honest. It was the truth, after all. At least part of it, anyway.  
"No, no", he said shaking his head, still pensive, "That's not going to happen. You keep away from those women. They're up to no good. Are we clear?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"Go to bed, get some rest", he said, as if I needed him to tell me I was tired! And yet again, he was raining on my parade... But I didn't feel hurt, I was actually curious. I climbed up the stairs wondering what had Madame Simeonova -or rather, Nelly- told Aickman.

"Madame Simeonova! More like Madame Fiddlesticks to me!", I heard him mumble to himself, and I almost laughed.

Up in my room, I was perched again on the windowsill, wearing my pyjamas, looking at the full moon and raising my fingers towards the window so it would look like I was plucking the moon from the sky. I was tired, but didn't feel like lying down to sleep yet. I could hear distant music coming from some party down the street. I pictured myself arriving at a gay[1] party, with Florian at my arm, introducing her around, laughing, dancing, having a great time... some day, maybe. That girl had definitely left an impression on me. She was pretty, at least to me, seemed smart, and was, definitely, fun to be around. On the other side, if I were asked for a word to best describe her right now, that would be intriguing. It was funny how we got to be truthful about aspects of our lives but she wouldn't even reveal her name. So for now, I'll have to think about her as Florian. _Florian-oh- Florian!_

And Madame Olga, what had she talked with Aickman to make him so upset? What did she wanted? Did it had to do with me? But then, why didn't she just approached me? Life shouldn't be this complicated... Florian doesn't seem to always get along with Madame Fiddlesticks either, but I wish I could be more like her; she seems lively when I usually feel like I'm something the cat dragged in...

Finally, I lied down and tucked myself in. As soon as I began drifting to sleep, I felt the spirits roaming around my bedroom, lurking in the darkness, their presence as solid as that of a living person would feel. I opened my eyes and I could figure the silhouettes moving. This has happened since Aickman began his defiling 'experimentation' with the dead, every night after we held a séance. I turned on my bedside lamp. With the light on -and I in a more alert state-, I couldn't see them, except for those who still lurked in the semidarkness, kept at bay by the light. The first night this happened, around two years ago, I was scared and wasn't sure what to do, so I spent the night on the shed outside the house. With time, I developed a method to block them from me and send them away. I pictured a white light and concentrated on it, then pictured the source from where that light was emanating; for me, it had the form of a mother, a good, loving and nurturing mother. A universal Mother. From her came everything that was pure, elevated, harmonized... I couldn't say who she was, but this worked for me. I felt the spirit's presence becoming remote, gradually dissolving, and without realizing it, I fell deeply asleep.

* * *

I woke up early to the powerful scent that floated all over my bedroom. Mrs. McKinney was baking her world-class blueberry pie. I rose from my bed and my stomach growled. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I almost ran down the stairs to the kitchen, still in my pyjamas. I didn't care if I was presentable or not, I knew Mrs. McKinney would forgive me.  
In the kitchen, Mrs. McKinney moved in front of the stove, cooking breakfast (scrambled eggs and ham!), humming along to an upbeat song from a music program she was listening on the radio.

"'Morning, Mrs. McKinney!", I greeted from the doorway to the kitchen.  
"Good morning to you, sweetie", she said with that clear, melodic voice of hers as I raced to eagerly butter some toast and take a bite out of it.  
"You act as if you haven't eaten in ages, child! I'll be sure to leave a substantial meal before I leave at noon for home", she laughed, all mirth. As she moved behind me, she playfully messed the back of my hair with her slender ebony fingers, then she put my breakfast in front of me.  
"Ah-huh", I muttered since my mouth was half full. When I had swallowed, I said, "Thank you, Mrs. McKinney, that would be nice."

She laughed again her charming laugh and turned to the dishes in the sink. At moments like this, I indulged in the fantasy that she was my mother, there in the kitchen with me doing chores after she had cooked breakfast for me. Pretending it was my mother there in the kitchen or that Mrs. McKinney herself was my mother were to fantasies that tended to overlap. Sometimes I wished she really had given birth to me and that at the end of the day I got to go home with her. The truth was that I loved everything about Mrs. McKinney; her sunshiny smile, the grace with which she did even the most minimal or common task, the brightness that accompanied every remark, and I could keep adding to the list. And she made me feel like I belonged somewhere; to me she was my family. As I watched her doing the dishes by the sink, the door swooned open and a little kid about six years old came into the kitchen. The energetic demeanor he had when he stepped in turned to bashfulness when he caught sight of me. He went straight to his mom and hugged her around the hips, and buried half his face on her gingham dress, still curious enough to take a peek at me. Mrs. McKinney put her loving arms around him almost instinctively.

"Mama, I'm bored!"  
"Jules, say hello to Mr. Jonah, Mr. Aickman's son."  
"How you do, Mr. Jonah?", the kid asked as politely as a six year old could.  
"Fine. And you Mr. Jules?", I responded as politely as he had been to me.  
"He called me 'mister', Mama!", he exclaimed delighted.  
"Yes, he did." She turned to me and said, "I hope it's fine I bought Jules with me today, Jonah."  
"It's not a problem with me, Mrs. McKinney."  
"And how come you're bored, Jules? It's beautiful outside and the yard is quite big."  
"But the swing's to high...", little Jules complained.  
"I can help you with that, Jules", I offered.  
"Oh no, Jonah, dear, finish your breakfast first", said Mrs. McKinney apologetically.  
"You will?", chimed the kid, his shyness dissolving into eagerness.  
"Sure, I'll be glad to!"  
"Thank you, Jonah, but don't take longer than you need. Jules, you go out to play, and behave yourself."  
"Okay, Mama", he said as he dashed to the door again. I stood up to take a jacket from the coat rack behind the door and followed Jules outside.

We got to where the tree with the old swing was, the same place where I had my conversation with Florian the night before. I untangled the swing and pushed it down with my knee to make sure it could still support his weight.  
"It's ready, little fellow."

Jules wasted no time and sat on it ready to swing, but his wee legs barely touched the ground.  
"Do you want me to push?"  
"No, it's okay, Mr. Jonah. You can go back inside to finish your breakfast." I chuckled because of his considerate dismissal; the little man had everything under control, apparently. I started back into the kitchen, but after taking a step, turned around.  
"You know Jules, your mom it's a pretty nice person."  
"Of course she is, she is my Mama, after all."

Jules was all smiles, but still struggled to start swinging himself, so I moved behind him and gave him a gentle push on his back with the fingertips, and away he went, keeping the momentum using the weight of his body.  
"Thank you, Mr. Jonah!"  
"Just Jonah."  
I walked back to the house with a satisfied grin.

I was stunned to discover none other than Florian Braganza, sitting in the kitchen, some cards spread before her on the table, the rest piled neatly in a deck on one side.  
"Morning! Want some pie?", she greeted casually, "Careful, it's hot!"  
"Good morning... Don't get me wrong, but what are you doing here? What are those?"  
"These? My tarot deck."  
"Fortune-telling cards?"  
"Yes. One of the many charming tricks Nelly had me learn. Here's your fortune: Be careful of the fake Russian that talks sweet words. She'll suck the life outta you." She took a piece of the pie off her plate, blew over it, and took a bite. "Boy, this is good!"

Now my instincts told me there was something wrong here, and I grew suspicious. As much as I liked her, I went with my instincts; they seldom failed me.  
"Where's Mrs. McKinney?"  
"She went to clean the parlor. I told her I would wait for you in here."  
"I know I promised not to tell on you, but why are you pouring out all this details? What is this is all about?"  
Florian turned serious. There was no sass on her manner now.  
"You seem like a good person, Jonah. I just want to prevent you, so you won't be... dragged, also... and then used up, like I was."  
_Too late_, I thought.  
"Jonah, are you happy?"  
I saw no point in lying, "No, I'm not. Why?"  
"Me neither."

I covered my food with a cloth and walked to Florian. "Come", I said, pulling her by the hand.  
"Where we going?"  
"Upstairs."

She followed me silently as we swiftly climbed the stairs. We went into my bedroom and I closed the door behind me. I quickly searched for a change of clothes.  
"I'm going to the bathroom to change. Lock the door behind me."  
I came back as soon as I could and closed the door again.  
"You can sit wherever you want", I offered politely, although the two only options where my bed and a small chair where I put discarded clothes and stuff. She chose the bed, so I had to settle my large body somehow on the little chair. She sat sideways, one leg under the other, dangling to the floor.

"Florian, what is this all about?", I asked slouching forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my chin on my palms. I was too large to sit comfortably on that chair.  
She took a breath. "You know how I told you before that Nelly has her eye on you?"  
"You didn't tell me that."  
"Oh, yes, I thought about it but actually forgot to do it... Well, at first I thought that she wanted to get to know her competition in this town, but as we drove back to the inn, all she cared to talk about was you, how gifted you are, how much of an asset you could be for her business...how incredibly talented and convincing you were, that she could use someone like you. She only stopped short of admitting your powers are real."  
"I don't have 'powers'..."  
"You know what I mean. I realized she would do anything in her power to convince you to join her, travel around the country making money off people's gullibility, especially rich people's gullibility."  
"And why are you concerned all of the sudden about people? Isn't that what you've been doing for a while now?"  
"I won't deny what I've done, but that's not the point. She really believes you're something special, and if you agree to go with her, why should she keep me? She only needs me to look wholesome, motherly, and the novelty of a "kid fortune-teller" as a complement to the accomplished adult medium doesn't hurt... She keeps me around to cover all bases, for those who are not willing to go all the way for a séance or a hearing with her. You go with her, and what would become of me?"

The more she talked, the more impassioned she grew, and the more dumbfounded I became.  
"But, Florian, what on Earth do you mean? Even if I went with her, which I'm not planning to do, she just can't...discard you like a used kitchen cloth."  
"Oh, believe me, she can and she would! She knows I don't like her, to begin with", she said wiping angry tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. I quietly got up and searched for a handkerchief. Silently, I offered it to her. Her dark eyes had grown intense and I couldn't tell if she was hating me at that moment. I had to look away, I couldn't hold her stare.  
"It's not your fault", she said, like she had read my mind, and accepted my handkerchief. I sat down on the floor in front of her.  
"Florian, it's not like I'm going anywhere with that woman, she doesn't inspire me the least trust." "I thought you would jump to the opportunity to leave this house."  
She surprised me with her insight. I felt so exposed all of the sudden. She kept on, "I just noticed how your fa... stepfather seems to be pulling all the strings around here, how uncomfortable and unnatural you looked last night..."  
"Leave me alone!" I was surprised by my own yelling, but I couldn't help it; I felt humiliated. Her words had hit a cord within me, they had made me feel naked, ugly. She had thrown my reflection back at me and I loathed what I saw. The façade I had built to conceal my weakness and despair from the world came crumbling down.

My breathing was shallow. Neither of us spoke for a few moments. Florian was taken aback, she didn't know where to rest her sight. I rose and walked to the window and opened it to catch some air. In a way, I felt relieved by venting out some of the pressure that had been eating up my insides for a while now.  
"I'll be going now", Florian announced. I turned myself around enough to let her see me nod in agreement.  
"I'm deeply sorry", she continued, and I nodded again.

There was a knock on the door and we heard Mrs. McKinney's voice asking, "Jonah, sweetie, are you fine in there?"  
Florian opened the door, startling Mrs. McKinney, and said, "Good day, Ma'am", and rushed out. Mrs. McKinney stood at the door, a hand over the doorknob, another resting on her hip, and an eyebrow cocked.  
"Is everything alright?", she asked, trying to sound neutral, but it was obvious she thought there had been some hanky-panky between Florian and I. Then she took a good look at me and her expression changed to concern.  
"Seriously, Jonah, what's wrong?"

I wanted to answer her but didn't even open my mouth. What would I tell her? 'Oh, Jonah, would you please grow a spine?', I thought exasperated with myself. I sat on my bed and brushed my hair back with the palms of my hands.  
"Honey, whoever that girl is, she's not worth the pain."  
I glanced to the corner and saw Florian's mother again, sitting on the floor and reclined on her side against the wall, looking languidly at me. My eyesight blurred.  
Mrs. McKinney sat besides me and put an arm around my shoulders. I wiped my nose with my sleeve.  
"Mrs. McKinney, I..." I wanted to tell her everything, about Florian and Nelly, about what's been happening for more than two years now in the mortuary for the sake of one man's misguided curiosity about the destiny and condition of the human soul after death, about how I just wanted to pack my things and get away from this house for good but was too afraid to make it on my own after years of having had hammered into my head that I was too weak and feeble.

"Yes, Jonah...", she said lovingly and patient. But I just couldn't talk. I only stared at my lap, shaking my head side to side, my mouth hanging open.  
"There's no bad spell in life that you can't conquer if you put your mind to it, Jonah, but you have to be wise enough to choose your fights".  
"Thank you... C-can I rest my head...on your...shoulder...for a moment?"  
She elongated her arm to make room for me and kept silent while, also silently, I wept.  
I closed my eyes, and feeling the pulse from her veins, again pretended that she was my mother.

[1]_Gay as in merry; common meaning of the word gay in that era._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter III

_The last temptation of Jonah._

Enough. I was tired of being a pushover, and came to a decision. If Madame Whatever-her-name-is wants something from me, she'd have to say so herself to my face. I went to the kitchen to use the phone. Florian had said that they drove to the inn. Here in Connecticut, an inn it's a tavern, but I'm sure she meant their lodgings, and that place in the township of Goatswood was Corneille's. It wasn't by no means a luxurious place by big city standards, but it was pretty decent and fancy, appropriate for a wordly woman like Simeonova travelling with a young lady like Florian. I called the operator to get a connection, and after getting through, I waited jittery for the reception office to answer. I had drifted off thinking exactly what to say, so the voice at the other end of the line startled me and brought me from my reverie.

"Corneille's Hotel, how can I help you?"  
I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm looking for one Madame Fidd- Olga Simeonova."  
"Who may I tell her is looking for her?"  
"This is Jonah Aickman, I would like to make an appointment with her."  
"One moment, please..."

I heard the click the system did when he put me on hold. I waited for a few moments.  
"You are lucky, Mr. Aickman, she was coming in right now. Would you like to speak to her."  
"Yes, please."  
I waited again, I was getting so anxious now.

"Yes? Is that you, Jonah? So good to hear you!"  
"Yes, Ma'am. I was wondering, could we meet up today, as soon as it is possible? I have a limited window of time before my father returns from New Haven."  
"Sure, sure. Meet me for lunch right here in our suite; I wouldn't like you to get in trouble with your father. He's a charming man, but he doesn't understand-"  
"I'll be on my way right now", I cut her off.

I ran upstairs to pack my suit in a canvas bag. I also packed my old sketchbook, pencils and some watercolors just in case I ran into Aickman or he questioned me later where I was. Going out the kitchen door, I found a note from Mrs. McKinney, I picked it up, put it on my pocket and got my bicycle from the shed. My heart was racing; I was almost praying I wouldn't find Aickman on the street, but apparently the stars were aligned on my favor for once.

I entered Corneille's not sure what to expect, not even sure what I wanted from this, but resolved to do it. I walked to the desk and asked for Madame's suite. The clerk eyed me in with contempt. I had pedaled under the sun and as fast as I could, my forehead was sweaty, my hair disheveled, and I carried a bag the size of a small child.  
"And who may you be?"  
"I'm Jonah Aickman, we talked on the phone before..."  
"Oh! I apologize... Madame Simeonova is waiting for you", the young man said with a whole new attitude.  
"Yeah. Is there a restroom where I can change into a more proper attire and refresh myself?"  
"Sure, right by that door."  
"Thank you. What number's Madame room?"  
"2B. Excuse me, but aren't you the medium fr-"  
"No, sir, never heard of him." I rushed into the restroom, washed my face, and fixed my hair as best as I could, then changed hurriedly inside one of the bathroom stalls.

The staircase was grand, boasting the past of the little hotel as a Victorian manor. It was all very beautiful, but I felt as if every step of it was stalling me instead of helping me get ahead. I followed the corridor and found 2B at the end. I made myself calm down and knocked on the door. Madame herself answered.  
"I'm so glad you could make it. Please come in..."

She was wearing a royal blue set of blouse and skirt. Her makeup wasn't so loud now and she looked almost pretty. I was led into a sitting room with a small table in front of a large window, lunch served and covered waiting for us. I looked around for Florian, and she was sitting on a cushion by a bay window further beyond were the dining area was, one leg up, the other down to the floor, barefoot, frozen in place as she had turned to see who was coming in. She followed me with her eyes. She put down the music sheet she held on her hand, and although her eyes asked _'What are you doing here?'_, she didn't say a word.

"Florian, dear, come to the table, we're ready for lunch", said Madame sweetly. Good Lord, could she be any more cloying? Florian slid her feet into ballerina flats as she got off the the cushion.  
"Good afternoon, Florian, nice to see you again."  
"Hello, Jonah of Goatswood. Good to see you're feeling better."  
"Yes, thank you."

We all three sat down at the table. "I don't have much time, Madame, so I hope you don't mind if I talk while we eat."  
"Not at all, Jonah, I completely understand. Besides, I'm looking forward to our conversation."  
"Good."  
Florian passed the bread while Madame filled our glasses with water.

"Would you like some Russian tea, Jonah?"  
"Of course." She filled me a cup with hot water from a kettle and put a bag of tea on it.  
"Well, I'm all ears", she said reclining back on her chair and clasping her hands on her lap.  
"Aickman- My father doesn't know I'm here." Madame nodded in an understanding way. "But he led me to think that you have an interest in my work."  
"That's right, Jonah. Your talent is the kind that comes once in a lifetime, let's say, it's one in a million. Just like some opportunities..."  
_Just what I wanted to hear; lead me on, Nelly!_

"I'm curious as to what kind of opportunities, Madame Simeonova."  
"Call me Olga", she said with the accent she just remembered she had, and sipped some tea.  
"So, Olga, what kind of opportunities are there for someone like me?"  
"For someone like you, the world. We move in an uncertain world that needs reassurance and faith, and people like you and I are here to give those two things. People want to know what the future upholds, need the peace of mind of knowing their loved ones are resting in peace after the troubles of this vale of tears. Wouldn't you like to address multitudes with a message of love and peace?"  
"Certainly."  
"I knew you have a good heart, young man! I'll get to the point. You come with me, and I'll make sure you get to be known all around the country. Helping people comes with many rewards; you'll get to travel, rub shoulders with the right people, move amongst the most widely respected and recognized Spiritual societies.[1] Doesn't that sound fabulous? But you have to work hard to earn all those things. Still, isn't all that better than embalming corpses and spend your life in this sleepy, albeit charming, little town?"  
"But I like embalming corpses." No, actually I didn't, I only wanted to push her buttons. I had said this in my most innocent sounding tone and with shiny, doe eyes. Florian almost choked on her food trying to supress a chuckle and had to take a gulp of water.

"Oh, well, then, after some years you could open your own funeral home, a whole chain of funeral homes if you wish", said Madame forcing a smile.  
"Good!", I said.

I felt like Huckleberry Finn with the King and the Duke.[2] Put the way she had, it all sure sounded alluring. All the while we talked, Florian had barely touched her food, she had only picked at her vegetables, grabbing only morsels, listening to us with an unamused expression, leaning on her shoulder over the table.

"Florian, dear, elbows off the table, please", admonished Olga. Florian sat up straight and concentrated on carving the steak on her plate.  
"So what do you say, Jonah? It's up to you."  
"I don't know... This is something I would like to consider carefully. I don't want to rush into things. Of course, I'll have to deal with my father too..."  
"Jonah, how old are you?"  
"Seventeen; I'll be eighteen in another month or so."  
"Isn't it time, then, that you became your own man? I mean, I might had left Goatswood within the month... See what I meant about some opportunities coming just once?"  
"I understand perfectly...", I said with a grin. "There's one other thing I would like to discuss with you...in private."

Olga looked at Florian and gave her a little smile. "Florian, you don't mind leaving us for a moment, don't you? You can finish your meal on the room."  
Florian took her plate and left for the bedroom. She didn't complain or anything, but she had a sullen look. I wasn't trying to make her miserable, but I wanted to be really discreet and not throw Nelly's suspicions on her. I was sure Nelly didn't know Florian had been to my house that morning. From what I knew of her, I bet she would be eavesdropping behind the door. When she opened the door to the bedroom, her mother's ghost was standing inside, waiting for her. I wondered if she had any idea of her mother's presence.

Nelly turned her chair to face me, leaned a little bit forward and crossed her legs for me to see them. She put a hand on my knee, and in a confidential tone, said, "I'm all ears. You can trust me."  
"Yes, I wanted to ask you about Miss Braganza."  
"Oh," she said backing off, "isn't she a beautiful young lady?"  
"Yes, she is. I was wondering, what would be her role in our society?"  
"Well, she's been with me since we fled our homeland, you know, after the unfortunate events of the October Revolution[3], and has acted as a secretary and helper of sorts for the last few years. She can also be a great help for you if you decide to come with us."  
"That's what I hoped to hear, actually."  
"Believe me, she will be at your disposition at all times and be of great service in any which way you want", she said, that last phrase particularly slow, as if to make sure I understood, then pressed her lips together in a grin, opened her eyes wide, and raised her shoulders. I understood, alright; she was virtually offering Florian for my own pleasure. How many times had something like this happened? Now I understood better Florian's dislike of Nelly. Well, I could suppose then that it was actually hatred what Florian felt for her. This woman was awful and full of it! No wonder Florian's mother was grieving.

I concealed my disgust as best as I could before it was obvious. Hopefully, she would only think I was stunned. Someone had told me once that my face was like an open book, since then, and under my own circumstances, I'd worked on my poker face in order to survive.

"Listen Olga, I can't answer to your offer at this moment, but I'll think it through."  
"That is fine, Jonah, but don't take too long."  
"One more thing, you and Florian are invited to our next séance, this Friday. It's open to the public, you and Florian are more than welcome."  
"Of course we'll be there, dear! Thank you so very much for the invitation!"  
"I'll have to leave now. I'm sorry I can't not finish lunch, but I'm running against time", I said rising up. "Thanks again for everything", I said shaking her hand effusively. "Could you please call Florian? I would like to say good bye to her."  
"Yes, yes", she said raising to go knock on the bedroom door. Meanwhile I picked up my bag and stood as near to the front door as I could.  
"Florian, Jonah wants to say good bye to you."

Florian came out of the bedroom in all tranquility, but as she approached me, I thought she was going to punch me on the face. Instead, she held out her hand and I shook it.  
"I hope you forgive me for any inconvenience I caused you, Florian."  
"Depends if you're really sorry..."  
"Yes, I am", I said, and on impulse, I bent down to kiss her cheek. It was humid. "I'll explain later", I whispered near her ear.

I could see Nelly in the back looking pleased, she was certain I was in on her plans. I didn't care what she thought. Florian's surprise reflected on her face, but said nothing, only put her hand where I had kissed her. I myself was surprised, and I knew she noticed.

I was in such a rush to flee that I almost forgot to change back into my plain clothes. Back outside, I took my bike again and as I got ready to ride on it, I stopped to realize what I had done. I had kissed Florian Braganza. Sure, it had been a small peck on the cheek, yet, my heart pounded faster, and in all honesty, I didn't know if that had been the right move, but, also in all honesty, I felt, well, great. I stood there on my bike, with a silly grin on my face, all blushed, I'm sure. I looked up to the second story window, and there was Florian, half hidden behind the curtain, looking down at me. Was she smiling too?

[1]_On the first decades of the 20th century, it was common for mediums and spiritualist to make a career as lecturers as well as spiritual mediums and were often patronized and/or befriended by the wealthy._  
[2]_Reference to the book _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, by American author Mark Twain, published in 1884, in which, among other adventures, Huck Finn meets with two swindlers that pretend to be royalty and try to dupe a family of their inheritance._  
[3]_Bolchevik (soviet) revolution that overthrew the provisional goverment of Russia in 1917, giving rise to the Russian Civil War, before the creation of the USSR in 1922. Madame Simeonova is implying that she and Florian are part of the aristocracy and nobility that fled the former Russian Empire._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter IV

_Life as it is..._

One block down from the hotel I still had a grin on my face, but my thoughts were running faster than I could follow them. It showed on the velocity I was riding, on how I wasn't sitting on the bike's seat, pedaling on instinct rather than actually thinking where I was going. I almost didn't see the pup running ahead of the kid crossing the street.  
"Sorry!", I said to the owner as I halted and then continued after the dog whined scared.

As soon as I reached Chandler Street, I realized I wasn't pedaling home. If I went right, I would get back to the house; if left, I could leave town and reach Abbey's Pond. I decided to give it a go and chose left. I stopped to buy a sandwich and a Dr Pepper -I hadn't really eaten at Corneille's- and went my way. I reached the site of the pond and left my bike on the ground under a tree. I stripped down to my underwear, then ran for it, and jumped into the water. Where it was deep enough, I submerged and opened my eyes to see my way through. When I emerged, I floated on my back and opened my eyes. Now I could think.

I've come to realized really how tempting Nelly Fiddlesticks' offer was. I had gone to the hotel with the fixed idea of not taking seriously anything she said, but now I had been presented with the chance to leave Aickman, the mortuary, and Goatswood behind for good. I didn't care that much for mingling with the rich and idle as for wanting to be independent and finally become the man I wanted to be. This thoughts scared me a bit; I felt I was on the brink of selling my soul to the devil. And to what cost? Wouldn't I be just changing one master for another? I was the goose with the golden eggs. Another thing bothered me, though, the way Nelly had so quickly and shamelessly offered Florian for my own amusement. Was this standard procedure? I didn't even wanted to imagine what Florian had been through... Although, if I left with them, Nelly couldn't be offering Florian around, right? She would be supposed to be "my girl", which was a very mild way to put it. I wondered if I was being too naive or if I was ready to take the big leap of faith all this was.

It was exhausting thinking this trough and by then, I was really hungry. My brain wouldn't process any more of this. I got out of the water, put my shirt on unbuttoned, and settled under the tree to have my sandwich and Dr Pepper. When I had finished, I laid down on the ground, my hands under my head. For a long time, I hadn't felt as sheltered as I did under that old tree, and I stood there mesmerized by the pattern of leaves and sunlight that kept changing with the wind like a kaleidoscope image. I tilted my head to watch the pristine, smooth surface of the pond, undisturbed except for the occasional bird diving for food or debris to built a nest. Everything was so peaceful now... When I was a child, I used to pretend I was Huck Finn lazying around the banks of the Mississippi River, and I would cover my head with a straw hat my mom had given me so I could better impersonate my childhood hero. I even mimicked his speech pattern, but try to imagine Huck talking with a Yankee accent!

But now, it was time to leave my little haven and return to reality.

* * *

I saw Aickman's car parked on the driveway and my heart jolted. I had half expected this but wasn't really prepared. I only hoped that I hadn't the GUILTY written all over my face. I returned my bike to the shed, and as an extra measure, hid my bag there too. I collected myself in front of the kitchen door. I turned the the doorknob, but then the door was pulled from the inside.

"Where have you been?", Aickman asked with a gruff voice.  
"At Abbey's Pond, swimming, sir..."  
"Then why had that Florian girl called to say she was thankful for your visit? And you have the nerve to lie to my face!"

I was too stunned to answer anything. Why in the devil had Florian done that? But Aickman didn't wait for me anyways, he slapped me on the face. My face was stinging, but I wouldn't show the pain. I kept my gaze on him. For some reason, this seemed to unsettled him a bit, beyond it being a daring stance.  
"Do not look me in the eye like that!", then he paused for a moment. " I specifically told you not to see those women again! You are disobedient and a liar. I expect you to listen to me from now on. I forbid you, are you listening? I_ forbid_ you to get anywhere near them again! Is that clear?"

I felt humiliated, angry, and betrayed, and it actually hurt me that he had called me a liar. Yes, I had done something behind his back, but I think I had a right to know what was being said about me and look after my own interests; I wasn't a little boy anymore, even if he wanted to keep me in a glass case.  
"I asked you, is that clear!", he barked again.  
"It is, sir."  
"Go to your room..."

I marched up to my room in defeat but wondering if I would be capable of manslaughter. Inside my room, I was so furious I took off my shoes and threw them against the wall, then also some school books, and then took my pillow and screamed into it at the top of my lungs. As always, this finished with me alone and bitter. This was not life as I wanted it to be! And I was so disappointed on Florian too... I told her I would explain! Why couldn't she had waited? Why had she acted so impulsive and reckless? Well, it served me right for worrying about her, when I hadn't known her even for twenty four hours. _She deserved everything she got with Nelly..._ No, that was not true at all, and I immediately discarded that though. But she could had spoken to me first. What was she so afraid of?

I remembered Mrs. McKinney's note on my pocket and took it out. On the other side of the paper there was a picture drawn in pencil of, well, I guessed that was me, with a smile on my face, the eyes colored with blue ink. I sat down on the floor to read it.

_"Dear Jonah-_  
_ I let you sleep it off so Jules and I left for home without saying good-bye. Thanks for helping Jules on the swing, the little man always tries to do things by himself first... As I said to you before, choose your fights wisely, but there's nothing you can't do if you put your mind to it. Don't let things take you down, life as you know it will change some day, it's not going to be like this forever. You'll grow up and become wiser and stronger. I know things are difficult for you, although I can't always say exactly why, and that you feel under pressure, but please, don't loose faith! You are a beautiful young man that, God willing, will soon be a noble grown man with a lot of good to offer. I don't need anybody to tell me I'm spot on on that. One day a beautiful girl will have her dreams come true when you take her as your wife and today's little episode will be something you'll look back amusingly and realize what a trifle it was, although necessary to grow and change. I don't expect you to fully understand now, because right now your hearts feels heavy, but you do trust me, right?_  
_Lovingly,_  
_G. McKinney"_

At least someone gave a damn.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter V

_La piqueta al hombro, el sepulturero, cantando entre dientes se pierde a lo lejos. La noche se entraba, el sol se había puesto: perdido en las sombras, yo pensé un momento:_ "_¡Dios mío, qué solos se quedan los muertos!" (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, Párrafo 9, Rima LXXIII)*_

There was a knock on my door around midnight, then I heard Aickman's voice.  
"Jonah, it's time. Get ready." That was Aickman-talk for going to Goatswood City Cemetery and steal a body. His steps faded as he moved away from my door. With the resignation I was already accustomed to, I put on a jacket, and my flat cap.

I yawned as I joined Aickman in the kitchen for some coffee before driving away.

"What were you doing up there? You're light was on...", he asked, but there was no accusation or suspicion in his tone.  
"I was working on a school project, sir."  
"Good, good..."  
I offered no further details and we drank our coffee as fast as we could, but before leaving, he surprised me with what he said next.  
"Maybe you would like to show it to me after you're finished with it."

The town streets were lonely and clustered with the scent of every flower and tree around, brought on by a wandering breeze. There were only a few other headlights glowing in front of us on the way. This was the time of the dead. They walked and roamed about, and you could find them at every other corner. They were always there, it actually didn't matter if it was night or day, it just so happened that night's silence and tranquility made it easier for them to manifest themselves. I acted as if I didn't saw them. I learned to do this the hard way, when it became overwhelming to try to help each and everyone of them find their way out or fulfill whatever it was that they left pending. I had also learned that I couldn't help every one of them... Those would have to wait for another chance.

We came into a stretch of road without houses or buildings around them. Here was located the cemetery gate that Aickman used to get inside. Aickman flashed the headlights of the car twice into the cemetery, and in less than a minute, we saw the outline of Parr, the nut job caretaker that was in on our little missions, moving towards us to come and open the gate. Parr didn't know the final state of the bodies we took home with us. Aickman had explained that he used them for medical research. Parr used to work on the mortuary years ago, but was let go because of a booze problem. For a reasonable price, he would reopen a grave, let us fill the casket with bags full of soil or sand, and rearrange everything to look as it had before. What I was afraid of was that, for a better price, he would tip us off to the authorities. We drove in with the lights off and once inside, we parked under the shadows of the caretakers' warehouse, where Parr greeted us.

"Mr. Aickman, we had dug one up for you that came in two days ago. We put him already on the warehouse. Had a funeral at home. Martin already left with his money", Parr said as we began walking towards the warehouse. _Was I the only mortician with ethics left in this town?_  
"Two days ago? That's too long... Was he embalmed?"  
"I'm sure he was, I went to his wake myself , and he looked fine, although I didn't had anything to do with preparing him."

Inside the warehouse, there was a lone, humble, casket laying on the farthest corner. Parr walked directly towards it, taking a crowbar from a table on his way, and pried open the casket. The foulest odor came out of the casket and I covered my nose with my jacket. It was the body of a man fifty to sixty years old, bloated and purplish gray in color. It looked like he would burst if as much as poked. Maggots were already finding their way inside and out the orifices of his face, roaming around his hands and clothes. My eyes watered because of the stench and I began to feel sick. I turned around and rushed to the door to grab fresh air.

"Hey, Johnny, it's okay; he's dead, he won't bite", Parr laughed at me.  
"My name's Jonah", I replied, gasping for air.  
"Put the lid back on, moron!", I heard Aickman bark at Parr. "Wasn't this the drunkard that was found drowned? Of course he's in such condition!"  
"Can't blame a fellow for trying to make an extra buck..."  
"You're making me loose my time! I'm not paying you to play games. It's the one I brought yesterday dug up?"  
"Well, I was about to begin when you arrived, Mr. A."  
"You mean it's still underground?", asked Aickman exasperated.  
"I can begin right away, it won't be difficult."  
"I just want to leave with a body as soon as possible. Jonah! Grab a shovel!"  
_What? Now I was supposed to be a grave digger too?_

We marched, Aickman, Parr, and I, shovels in hand, to the recently covered plot were a burial had taken place on Friday. This one, Aickman and I had prepared ourselves. In a strange way, I was glad I was there, because I could give the poor girl some of the respect and dignity she deserved. I was glad her body wasn't alone here with Parr, I think it was more than a booze problem that got him kicked out of the mortuary... Parr had already removed the flowers left over from the burial, and each one of us plunged our shovels on the ground and began removing the earth as fast as we could. I was sure that I was going to be sore the next morning... I was the first one to touch the casket with my shovel. Parr and I jumped inside the grave to bind the coffin with ropes so we could pull it out of the ground. Back at ground level, Parr said to me, "Are you sure you're up to this with those puny arms or yours?"

I was tired, crossed, and over worked, I sure didn't need his smart-ass remarks, so I looked at him up and down and answered, "Would yo like to do this alone? And my name is Jonah, you know..."  
"What are you doing looking down at me like that? Do you want me to knock the teeth outta you're pretty face?" He closed his fist and I flinched.  
"Parr, you don't get to threaten my boy!", barked Aickman.  
"Sorry, Mr. A. But he could use a sense of humor!", Parr tried to laugh it off while Aickman glared at him. (One thing you should know about Aickman. In his youth he had been a gifted amateur boxer, so loudmouths like Parr, who wouldn't hesitate to bully a slim seventeen year old like me just because they knew they were bigger and stronger, thought it better before picking up a fight with Ramsay Aickman.)

It was a good thing I was a swimmer, that gave me enough strenght to lift the coffin from the ground, but it was proving to be a difficult task, so Aickman stepped in, took one end of rope from me, and pulled too. Then, all three of us rushed the coffin back to the warehouse, where Parr pried it open to reveal the young body of Jane Atkins, almost twenty at the time of her death. She had graduated from my school the year before. It was almost like looking again through the camera lens, when I had taken her picture for her family before her wake. Aickman and I removed the body from the casket and wrapped it on a heavy wool sheet. I opened the trunk of the automobile and Aickman deposited the body inside. Aickman paid Parr his due, and we drove off, leaving Parr to rearrange the plot.

* * *

My head hung over my chest. I was falling asleep in the car on the way back to the house, and the most unsettling dream sprouted from my brain. In it, I just couldn't find the way to the mortuary, small things kept stoping me from finally arriving, but I wasn't glad that the work was being postponed, I was only anxious to get over with it. When I finally got there, there was no corpse, so I had to lay down myself on the gurney, and Aickman proceeded to plunge the scappel on my skin, on my still breathing and heaving body.  
"Ahhh!" I gasped as I woke up, jumping on my seat. I was sweating, jittery. "Please, stop the car. Please stop!"  
"What is it?", asked Aickman about to get bewildered.  
"Please stop!", I insisted.

He complied, and as soon as Aickman had parked at the side of the road, I almost jumped out of the car, trying to breath new air, the unbound air of that breezy night, and then looked behind the car and the trunk was open, the body hanging out about to fall.  
"What the hell?", said Aickman when he found me trying to acommodate the body fully inside the trunk again.  
"I don't know! Apparently we didn't closed it well..."  
"It must had been when we hit that bump. Do it right this time, alright?"  
"Yes, sir." I finished my new task. Aickman stood next to me. I turned to him and he took me by the shoulders and pinned me against the car".  
"You have to be more competent! Do you realize what could had happened if that body was left here on the road to be discovered? Have you any idea?" He shook me up.  
"It was you who closed the trunk back at the cemetery!", I darted at him.

He stopped and seemed to recollect the moment when he had slammed the trunk after placing Jane's corpse inside it. He loosened his grip on me, looked away to the distance, and patted me on the shoulder. He said nothing, just went back to the front seat. I honestly didn't wanted to return inside the car, I 'd rather walk back to the house, but I didn't wanted to run out of luck, so I didn't loose any more time and went back to the passenger seat. Aickman was waiting for me with his hands on the steering wheel. I sat silently, and kept looking outside the window. Then Aickman spoke, "I was wrong."

I looked at him and nodded. I wouldn't push it, there was no need, and knowing Aickman, this was as much as I would get. For the rest of the way, I kept looking outside the car window.

* * *

Back in the house, I helped carry the corpse into the basement and placed it in the gurney. I got the linen cloth and Aickman's instruments. When everything was set and ready, I waited quietly on a corner.

"Jonah, you're dismissed for the night."  
"You don't need my help?"  
"No, Jonah, go to sleep. I'll do this by myself."  
"Thank you, sir. You too rest when you can."

I left Aickman down there alone, relieved to be spared. I got ready for bed, longing for a good night sleep. I threw myself on the bed and quickly fell on a deep sleep...

* * *

_*Pickaxe on his shoulder, the gravedigger, singing between his teeth, was lost in the distance. The night entered, the sun had set: lost in the shadows, I thought for a moment: "My God, how alone we leave our dead!" (Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, Spanish 19th Century Romantic poet, Paragraph 9, Rhyme LXXIII)(Translated by H. Landman)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Greeting, readers! It's been more than a month since I last updated _Goatswood Blue_, so this chapter isn't built in the usual manner my chapters are. (Also, it lacks a quoth or subtitle before the episode begins.) It was actually part of a chapter in progress, but I decided to publish it ahead because I couldn't let more time slide before I gave you guys something to chew on. It can be viewed as a continuation of the previous chapter, if so you desire, or probably subjected to change. The thing is that I wanted to keep the ball rolling before it was too long. I'm only happy that I can continue this piece I love some much! A holler to my friend lordoftheunderwold, thanks for reading and the encouregement! Also "hey-there" to ! A new chapter will be posted soon. **

**_Jo Nahmanaick._**

**_ps._ I know, poor Jonah suffers too much, but he'll have good things coming his way too. As I told you, I just needed to keep the ball rolling.**

* * *

Chapter VI

Morning came too soon. I opened my eyes and found myself lying in the same position I had gone to bed in, with my face on the pillow and my arms and legs sprawled. The tension of the night before returned throbbing back in the form of a headache. I rolled out of bed to fetch some aspirin from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, yawning groggily as I walked down the hallway.

"She's gone...", Aickman's voice startled me.  
"Who's gone?", I replied automatically, turning around to look for him, but he wasn't there, then I spotted him sitting on the floor under his bedroom's door's lintel, looking like hell. "G-good morning, sir..."  
"Morning? Is it morning already?", he asked in a confused tone, sounding lost.  
"Yes, sir; look at the sunlight coming in from your window", I explained pointing, then I yawned again.  
"Huh?", he muttered, looking back over his shoulder. "She had just left and I already feel so alone. It's like life it's not worth living without her."  
"What are you talking about, sir?"  
"Have you seen her?", he added rather eagerly, "I can't find her anywhere..."

My mind wasn't sharp yet an he was been cryptic about whatever he was trying to say, so I started feeling dumb, then frustrated. Then there was the throb of that headache again...  
"Was there someone else in the house?", I said wishing with all my might that nothing had happened to the corpse we brought in the night before.  
"Now it's only me and the boy. He loves his mom so much... My boy is so sensitive, how am I going to tell him his mommy died?"  
I realized that her was none other than Mary Aickman, my mother. That sobered me up, like having had water thrown at my face. I didn't know what to make of all this. And there he was actually worried about how to break the news that my mother had died to me.

"Mom died eight years ago...", I said tentatively.  
"Where is Jonah?", he asked looking around, probably expecting to find a nine year old boy wiping the snot from his nose with his sleeve, too scared to ask if his mother was still sleeping off her pain or if it was all over. But that little boy didn't needed anyone to tell him his mother had passed, because she came to him, all light, as she had been released from her pain. She sat by his bed, and said her good-byes. She kissed him on his forehead, cool to the touch and warm to the heart, and silently crossed the veil from the realm of the living to that of the dead.

"I'm right here sir, I'm Jonah."  
"I've got to find Jonah and tell him. Where is my boy?", he insisted trying to stand up. He rose and lost his footing, but I quickly held him by an arm. He came face to face with me and yielded.  
"Don't look at me like that, Mary! I know you are disappointed and I've messed up everything!" At least he was damn right about that.

I loosened my grip on his arm and looked away to avoid any other unexpected reaction from him.  
His mind seemed to be reeling back and forth from the day mom died to the moment when he dealt with the dead in a manner she would never approve under any circumstance, and treated me like crap, on top of it all.

"It's me Jonah! I am Jonah!", I exclaimed almost desperate.  
He seemed to somehow collect himself. "Are you a ghost?", he asked with a mixture of fascination and fright.

That hurt me, because that's just how I felt sometimes, like a lost soul myself, waiting to be freed.  
"No, it's only me, Jonah... _Father_...", I said slowly turning my face to him, hoping for him to recognize me.

He put his palm, still dirty after all the work we had done the night before, on my face.  
"My boy...", he muttered and examined my face for a moment with something like curiosity and admiration. "You're momma has ju-."  
"Yes, I know...", I cut him off and directed him towards his bed. He sat on his bed with his head hanging heavy. "She would be so disappointed, so disappointed...", he said moving his head gravely from side to side.

Somehow I convinced him to lay down on his bed. I took off his shoes as he began growing quieter, then ran to the bathroom to get a wet towel to wipe his hands and face as he began falling asleep. "Leave this man alone!", I commanded as I perceived with the corner of my eyes the scurrying shadows around the room. There was that headache again...

Later, I understood what I had just witnessed; that was what happened to those who messed with what they could not grasp. Well, maybe Aickman wasn't "all there" anyways, after all, confirming one of my latest suspicions. I closed the door behind me and hold onto the banister. I felt exhausted, drained, and avoided the thoughts hanging over my head, and because of that is that I decided to leave, both for the moment and forever.


	8. Chapter 9

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____________________

**A/N: Thanks everybody for your advice and opinions. _Goatswood Blue _is now set in 1927, and get ready for the thrills! Also, the first part of this chapter is a slight reworking of the previous episode, please be patient with it. And now, without further ado...**

* * *

Chapter VII

"...  
_¡Oh dichosa ventura!  
Salí sin ser notada,  
estando ya mi casa sosegada."  
-San Juan de la Cruz_(1)

Morning came too soon. I opened my eyes and found myself lying in the same position I had gone to bed in, with my face on the pillow and my arms and legs sprawled. The tension of the night before returned throbbing back in the form of a headache. I rolled out of bed to fetch some aspirin from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, yawning groggily as I walked down the hallway.

"She's gone...", Aickman's voice startled me.  
"Who's gone?", I replied automatically, turning around to look for him, but he wasn't there, then I spotted him sitting on the floor under his bedroom's door's lintel, looking like hell. "G-good morning, sir..."  
"Morning? Is it morning already?", he asked in a lost, confused tone.  
"Yes, sir; look at the sunlight coming in from your window", I explained pointing, then I yawned again.  
"Huh?", he muttered, looking back over his shoulder, almost surprised to see the pale rays of morning light hitting the end wall of his room. "She had just left and I already feel so alone. It's like life it's not worth living without her."  
"What are you talking about, sir?"  
"Have you seen her?", he added faintly eager, "I can't find her anywhere..."

My mind wasn't sharp yet an he was been cryptic about whatever he was trying to say, so I started feeling dumb, then frustrated. Then there was the throb of that headache again...  
"Was there someone else in the house?", I said wishing with all my might that nothing had happened to the corpse we brought in the night before.  
"It's only me and the boy now. He loves his mom so much... My boy is so sensitive, how am I going to tell him his mommy died?"

Shit. That's when I realized that her was none other than Mary Aickman, my mother. That sobered me up, like having had water thrown at my face. I didn't know what to make of all this. And there he was actually worried about how to break the news to me that my mother had died.

"Mom died nine years ago...", I said tentatively. He gave me a stranged look, as if he was about to ask me what I was yapping about.  
"Where is Jonah?", he asked looking around, probably expecting to find an eight year old boy wiping the snot from his nose with his sleeve, too scared to ask if his mother was still sleeping off her pain or if it was all over. But that little boy didn't needed anyone to tell him his mother had passed, because she came to him, all light, as she had been released from her pain. She sat by his bed, and said her good-byes. She kissed him on his forehead, cool to the touch and warm to the heart, and silently crossed the thin veil from the realm of the living to that of the disencarnate.

"I'm right here sir, I'm Jonah."  
"I've got to find Jonah and tell him. Where is my boy?", he insisted trying to stand up. He rose and lost his footing, but I quickly held him by an arm. He came face to face with me and yielded.  
"Don't look at me like that, Mary! I know you are disappointed and I've messed up everything!"  
At least he was damn right about that.

I loosened my grip on his arm and looked away to avoid any other unexpected reaction from him.  
His mind seemed to be reeling back and forth from the day mom died to the moment when he dealt with the dead in a manner she would never approve under any circumstance, and treated me like crap to boot.

"It's me, Jonah! I _am_ Jonah!", I exclaimed almost desperate.  
"What do you mean you're Jonah? My boy is only nine years old." Then, with a mixture of fear and fascination he asked, "Are you a ghost?"

A ghost. That's just how I felt sometimes, a lost soul myself, waiting to be freed.  
"No, it's only me, Jonah... Father...", I said slowly turning my face to him, hoping for him to recognize me.

He put his palm, still dirty after all the work we had done the night before, on my face.  
"My boy...", he muttered and examined my face for a moment with something like curiosity and admiration. "You're momma has ju-."  
"Yeah, I know...", I cut him off and directed him towards his bed. He sat on his bed with his head hanging heavy. "She would be so disappointed, so disappointed...", he said moving his head gravely from side to side.

Somehow I convinced him to lay down on his bed. I took off his shoes as he began growing quieter, then ran to the bathroom to get a wet towel to wipe his hands and face as he began falling asleep. "Leave this man alone! Get out!", I commanded as I perceived with the corner of my eyes the scurrying shadows around the room.

Later, I understood what I had just witnessed; that was what happened to those who messed with what they could not grasp. Well, maybe Aickman wasn't "all there" anyways, after all, confirming one of my latest suspicions. I closed the door behind me and hold onto the banister. I felt exhausted, drained, and avoided the thoughts hanging over my head, and because of that is that I decided to leave, both for the moment and forever.

____________________

____________________

* * *

___Jonah Aickman sat on the top step of the staircase, knees apart, arms laying limply on his tighs, back hunched. He stared vacantly at the air, wondering why, how things had come down to this. For the moment he had forgotten his headache, as he had once almost forgotten, until now, that Ramsay Aickman had been once the only father he ever knew. He even recalled a memory that took him by surprise as if it had been something he had just learned:_

_Ramsay Aickman opened the door to Jonah's bedroom to wake him up and tell him his mother had just passed, but he was surprised when he found the boy sitting straight up in bed, wide awake. He sat on the edge of Jonah's bed and took the boy's tender and slim hand in his own big and skilled one, rough around the fingertips due to the chemicals used to develop photographs. _

_"Son", he began, but stopped short when Jonah turned his face to him with eyes so liquid and luminous that he thought he could see open skies in them. He even fancied he saw the first stars of the evening appearing in them amidst the game of light and shadow in the bedroom._

_"So you know already...", Ramsay half asked, half declared, atonished at his discovery. Jonah nodded yes with his little head, the hair on one side standing up where his head had been laying over the pillow before he was waken up by his mother's spirit._

_"Want to talk about it?" No.  
"Want to go see her?" No, he wanted to dream about her tonight just as he had seen her when she came to him, but it was okay if Father wanted to stay for a while. The boy scooted over to make room for Ramsay to sit more comfortably against the bed's headboard. Ramsay rounded Jonah's shoulders with his arms until the gentle boy fell asleep reclined against Aickman's solid body. _

___Jonah returned from his reverie. He didn't know how to feel about it and he didn't wanted to think anymore about it either. He shook himself up and got on his feet. He splashed some water on his face, took some aspirin -oh, there was that headache again!-, brushed his teeth, and got dressed; he got on his bike, and pedaled away as far as he could.

* * *

_

_He pedaled as if hypnotized to the rythm of his own legs working the bike, but the excercise was begining to do him good. He could actually feel his legs and arms gaining strenght, his lungs opening to receive oxigen, his wretched nerves soothed by the wind against his face. His overall mood started lifting. _

_He rode past the Episcopalian church and heard the hymns being sung; he couldn't make out all the words, but thought them beautiful. One block down, he heard the chatter of the people gathering in front of the Catholic church after Mass was over, greeting each other, and he found it beautiful too. Another block down, near the town's square, he heard the music of street musicians playing a jazzy tune and that made him smile._

_A hearty voice started singing along with the music. He slowed down his pace. It was the impassioned and delightfuly raw voice of a young woman, sounding as if stemming from the earth itself. People had gathered around to listen._

_"Have I been blind?  
Have I been lost  
inside myself and  
my own mind?  
Hypnotized,  
mesmerized,  
by what my eyes have seen?"_

_________He was riding so slow now that he had to manuver the handlebar to keep his balance while searching with his eyes into the empty spaces, trying to find the confirmation to what he was almost positive. Some adults were tapping their feet on the sidewalk keeping the beat, while some children tried to pet the little dog the musicians had with a THANK YOU sign tied around its neck. _

_"I've walked these street  
in a spectacle of wealth and poverty.  
In the diamond market  
the scarlet welcome carpet  
that they just rolled out for me". _

___He finally spotted the singer, and yes, it was Florian Braganza. He got off his bike and got nearer, but stayed behind the small crowd. He waited anxiously but patiently, if such two attitudes could coexist within a person at the same time, for her to finish her song. Still, he couldn't escape the charm of her performance; this girl had been born to sing her heart out, and he was as enthralled as the next man. _

___"Have I been blind  
have I been lost  
have I been wrong  
have I been wise  
have I been strong  
Have I been  
Hypnotized  
mesmerized  
____By what my eyes have found  
In that great street carnival  
In that carnival?" _(2)

_Florian finished her song with flair, and a round of applause followed. She waved her hand good-bye and even blew a kiss to a little boy. She put some coins on the open bass case next too the dog, which wiggled his tale at the attention he was getting from the kids.  
"Thanks for the chance, I had fun!", she said to one of the musicians.  
"Thank you, miss", he said raising his hat, happy to oblige and happy for the tips he was making now. _

_Florian walked away with a happy gait, her heart merry and bursting with a thousand stars, and an easy smile on her face. If Jonah could have seen her smiling face and twinkling eyes right there, he would have melted on the spot and Florian would have had to pick him up with a spatula._

_Jonah followed her silently in his bike until she was about to disappear around a corner._  
_"Florian! Florian!", he called her determined to have her attention and say what he had to, but she kept on walking._

_"Florian!", he called again. Now she stopped right were she was and turned around, still smiling with elation, but casted down her eyes when she realized who had called her.  
"Hey, Jonah of Goatswood..."_

_He got off his bike without stopping it first and let it drop to the ground as he walked to her._  
_"Why, Florian? Why did you had to rat me out to Aickman? He gave me hell for it. I told you I would explain, I didn't go there to get you fired or anything!", he said hitting the sides of his head with his open palms in exasperation. _

_He was loosing his cool, and Florian watched attentively with her mouth half open as if about to speak, following him with her eyes. He continued his rant almost in one breath, exhausting his frustration._

_"I felt so heart-boken, I mean, how could you? I thought everything was clear between us. So you didn't have faith in me? I guess not, well, we barely know each other after all, right? And knowing you has been a roller coaster, but I've learned that you can be a hot headed fool!"  
"I might be a fool, but you're as naive as they come! D'you think she's not going to exploit you?"  
"I've thought about it, but it's not as if I've said yes to her offer."  
"Just don't and let me be."  
"Since when am I such a nuisance in your life? What am I to you?"  
"Nothing, just a nuisance!  
"Didn't it occur yo you that it could be good for you to have me around?"  
"Oooh, my savior!", Florian exclaimed mimicking a damsel in distress, "You're the one to lift me up from my misery and turn my life around... I've been doing just fine, that is, until you got into the picture!"  
"Well, joke's on you! Did you know she offered you to me just to make sure I'll go along?" Ouch, that sounded mean and Jonah realized it a second too late. __Florian didn't say anything back, a storm brewing inside her heart, dark clouds forming on her eyes, her nostrils flaring. _

_Jonah wished he had bited his tongue before talking.  
"I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry I said it like that, Florian..." _

_"She promised it wouldn't be like that again...", was all she said in an even tone that reminded Jonah of the dark calm before the heavens open up to pour down. Her gaze burned over him and he didn't know what to say, but he had to ask, "Do you hate me?"  
"At this very moment, yes." __She blinked her eyes once, then again, and again. "But not the rest of the time... you're too nice." She blinked again trying to hold back tears that Jonah couldn't figure out if they were of anger, infinite sadness, or frustration; maybe all of them wrapped together. She took out a cigarrette from her purse and lighted it. _

_Jonah took a step closer. "Why is it that every time we see each other we have an argument or something of the sort? It's like we are crossed... I really liked you when we first met, two nights ago."_

_Florian exhaled the smoke and said, "That's partly because you're right, I'm a headstrong fool."  
"I didn't say headstrong, I said 'hot-headed' ", he said grinning.  
"Yeah, but I can be pretty headstrong too, and yes, I didn't think it through before calling your house, but truthfully, I was sorry the moment I hung up the phone. I was actually planning on reaching you and apologize; you just found me first", she smiled though her eyes were watery.  
_

_"I like you too Jonah Aickman of Goatswood; not a bit of pretenciousness on you, all heart. And sincere too... Would you forgive me?"  
"I've already put it behind..."  
"Then friends again?"  
"You consider me your friend?"  
"Let's see... we met, we argued, you visited my hotel, I called your house, we just patched things up in a corner near a busy town square... Yeah, kind of rushed, but all we've been through, I think we can consider ourselves friends, don't you think?"  
"Suits me fine", he said, his face blushed. He had to stuggle with the thumping of his heart, which wanted to escape his chest through his throat. _

_"What, Jonah?", asked Florian, just slightly cocking her head to the side. Jonah had been staring at her, he was watching the lone tear rolling down her face.  
"I only wish... wish that I could, don't know, do something to make you feel better...".  
"How about, if for today, we just hang out around town?"  
"Sure thing."_

* * *

(1) "...Oh delightful happiness!/I went abroad unnoticed,/all then being quiet in my house." Small fragment from **Noche oscura del alma (Dark Night of the Soul)**, by 15th Century Spanish mystic poet Saint John of the Cross.

(2) Florian's song are actually excerpts from the 1995 song **_Carnival_**, by American siger/songwriter Natalie Merchant. Not from the 1920's, but good for this chapter!


	9. Chapter 10

**REMEMBER TO READ AND REVIEW!**

**

* * *

**Chapter VIII

"_De par en par la ventana se abrió como por encanto  
entró el amor con su manto como una tibia mañana  
y al son de su bella diana hizo brotar el jazmín,  
volando cual serafín al cielo le puso aretes  
y mis años en diecisiete los convirtió el querubín._

_Se va enredando, enredando, como en el muro la hiedra  
y va brotando, brotando, como el musguito en la piedra  
com el musguito en la piedra, ¡ay sí, sí, sí!"  
-Violeta Parra (1)_

That day was the day Florian became part of my life.

"Would you let me ride your bike? Pleezzzeee!", she asked in the most comical fashion, looking like a cartoon with her stretched grin and a whimsical batting of her eyelashes.  
"Okay- hehe...".  
She hopped on in it and pedaled without sitting down as I walked by her side. "I haven't been on a bike for a long time. Whoo-hoo!"

I watched her riding on the street while I followed on the sidewalk. She looked blithe and content, ages apart from moments before when she had been fighting the urge to cry. I didn't doubt for a moment that this lightheartedness was part of her nature, but also felt sure that she was avoiding, like I had done for myself before, heartbreak. I guessed we would eventually talk about it, but I decided to take her lead and let her be; she would talk when she felt ready.

She giggled infectiously and I was soon laughing too, and we began yelling to speak, she from the bike on the street, me from the sidewalk, but I was growing wary of not having her nearer, right next to me, and I remember stopping to think, hope, wish, as my eyes followed her, _'Please come back to me...'_

She, who was already slowing down, returned and stopped by the turn of the sidewalk as we had reached the corner, so we were standing facing each other. She didn't say a word, just rested her arms over the handle, lifted her face a little as if ready to listen,and sighed, a serene expression on her face, and as long as I could, I stood there taking it in. And, Florian Braganza, queen of all sass and freshness, I swear, blushed.

She laughed again, and said, "What should we do know?"  
"We should eat", I answered, and in a strike of genius added, "Let's pack lunch and eat at a very nice place I know and let's go there on another bike. Do you by any chance have troussers?"

The other bike happened to be a 1924 Indian Big Chief motorcycle. Mr. Marley, the mechanic who tended the funeral home's hearse owned one and taught me to ride. I left Florian at her hotel to order food and lucky for me Mr. Marley was home and lend me the motorcycle while he kept my bike on his garage. He even gave me an extra pair of goggles for Florian, although I didn't specify who was going to be my companion, the less he knew, the less Aickman could find out about it. Not that Mr. Marley would tell on me, but just to be on the safe side, assuming there was one...

When I arrived at the hotel, Florian was waiting outside already, wearing short troussers and her hair in a low ponnytail under a beret. She was carrying the food on a courier bag. I stopped right in front of her with the engine still running.

"Wow, that thing is beautiful!", she exclaimed, "And you don't look that bad either!"  
"Thank you. Have you ever rode in one before?", I asked, trying to move on the conversation and stop the rush of blood that crept to my face, which I know was a failed attemp. This girl could bring out my most daring side, but my bashfulness was here to stay.  
"Nope."  
"Are you ready for it?"  
"Heck yeah!"  
"Put this on first", and I handed her the goggles, "and we'll have to share the seat, so give me the bag and sit in front of me and hold the handles tightly."  
"Haha, don't I look like a chemistry teacher?", she said as I took the bag and sling it and she hopped in.  
"Duck your head a little bit, Professor Braganza. Let me know if it gets tiresome."  
"Who cares, this is outstanding!"  
"Well, let's hit the road!"

So I started the Indian again, and she was right, it was outstanding.

* * *

(1) Fragment from _**Volver a los diecisiete (Return to Seventeen)**_, by Chilean composer, folklorist, and visual artist Violeta Parra (1917-1967). The translation will be your assignment.

Be sure to check my profile for a list of songs that could be used as a soundtrack of sorts for **_Goatswood Blue._** (Subjected to changes! I'll let you know when it's final.)


	10. Chapter 11

**Remember to read and review!** And read and review also **No Promises**, one helluva good story by **nightchildx**, and if you're haven't read it yet, go to it right now, even before you begin this chapter!

I dedicate this chapter to **lordoftheunderworld**, **xoxoMyRealityIsFiction**, **Opal Static**, **nightchildx**, **RoxxiMay**, **ZeldaNut1**, and **PoisonedThorn**.

* * *

**Chapter IX **

My arms enclosed hers as we held on together to the handles, speeding along the rural road, my upper body lightly reclining over her back, just touching her outline. Sometimes along the way she broke in sudden laughter, excited, and then an easy smile showed up upon my face. She was real now, not just a hope in a lonely night. She was still a mystery, but one I felt on the path of unveiling. Was I a mystery to her too, or could she read on my face the story of my life? It was too soon, but by then I knew already that I was going to love her.

We stopped once on the road so Florian could stretch. I also needed to rest my arms, and we decided it was more comfortable if she sat behind me and held on to my waist. I gave her the bag with our lunch and started off again.(1)

* * *

We parked the Big Chief next to the same big tree under which I had rested the afternoon before.  
"Let's eat, I'm starving!", I said, since it was almost ten o'clock and I've been roamming around all morning without a single bite to eat.  
"I didn't know what you like", Florian said, getting off the motorcycle, "so I ordered one honey ham and swiss sandwich and the other smoked salmon. There's also some fruit..."  
"You choose, I could have either."  
"Then I hope you enjoy your salmon...", she said with good humor. "You're face is kind of dirty from the dirt on the road; I bet mine's too!"  
"Go wash it in the lake you little grease-monkey!", I replied and she walk off carrying our lunch while I pushed the stand of the motorcycle with my foot. I walked over her steps, watching as she squatted by the lake's bank to get her hands wet.

When I got to were she was, I sat down next to her as she pulled her hands out of the water and knelt. She cleansed my face with her humid fingers, tracing my features like she was trying to learn every one of them by heart. _What does it take to fall in love with somebody_?, I thought.

I gently pressed her hand against my fresh face. I felt a heated thrill run down from my chest to my groin. It was like falling in a void; no breeze, no sound, no nothing in between me and her. And she looked so clear to me now; every feature, every texture on her intensifyied to my eyes. Her mouth was still, with only the foreshadow of a smirk forming on it, but her eyes glimmered with expectation, already rejoicing in her secret mischief, guessing already... Entranced in this moment, I took her face in both my hands and kissed her on the lips.

Right after we pulled apart she bolted towards me and we held each other fiercely, falling both onto the damp grass.

* * *

**Author's commentary:**

(1) I had them switch places on the motorcycle, because as cool as it might be that Florian was surrounded by Jonah's arms, it would be uncomfortable, not to mention quite impossible, to drive the motorcycle that way. Florian is just not that small to fit in front of Jonah while he's driving the bike! (Tip of the hat to my boyfriend for making me face reality ;) )

I know, I know, this was a crap-o, fluff-fest chapter, but I had to update something -it's been more than two months already!- even if I hadn't found the inspiration to elaborate beyond this point.

And for those who noticed: Yep, Florian's a guy name, still in this era. ;) But thanks anyway for the comment- and the awesome review! She's just waiting for someone to point that out to see how Madame Simeonova would explain that away! M. Simeonova chose it for her because it sounded "exotic". There was actually a bit of dialogue in Chapter 1 pointing at that, but it was nixed before the chapter saw the day of light. (Although I found out that the name had actually been used for girls in America. _Florian Parker (b. 1919), sister of American fashion model Dorian Leigh (b.1917). _)

Another secret: Although Florian and M.S. are supossed to be Russian, Braganza (or Bragança) it's actually a Portuguese surname. Hmmmmmm?


	11. Chapter 12

**If stories are food, this chapter is a chicken nugget. I'm sorry I've been M.I.A, but just got my computer back and I thought it would be good to serve up a little snack before getting back on track. I'll probably take this off when I have something better finished.**

Chapter XI

We laid on our backs, under a mild sun barely begining to heat up, looking upwards to the sky, with our arms interwined.

"I have a problem now," I said, "I'm really hungry, but I don't want to sit up; I'm good just where I am."

Florian reached with her arm to the side and took an apple out of the courier bag. "Here, you can start munching on this without having to move your lazy bum", she chuckled, took a bite from the apple, and then handed it to me. I took a crunching bite out of it, a little of the juice trickled down to the side of my face.  
"Now we'll get kicked-out from Paradise for sure...", she joked, making a reference to the story of Adam and Eve.

When we finally sat up to eat, I ate with gusto; it was delicious already, but food tastes specially good when you're starving, and we barely spoke while we ate.

Florian had taken off her shoes and her beret and undid her loose ponytail. The sun shone on the top of her head showing a a halo of little stray hairs. She was looking off to the distance and her expression was pensive; for a moment I could see the child under the worldly woman exterior, and I cursed myself for not having my drawing tablet or my camera with me. I would comit to memory her soft profile and calmed stance for when I got home.

"Jonah...", she interrupted her own silence.  
"What, Florian?", I answered, eager to know what was on her mind.  
"Have you ever slept with a girl?"

That knocked the air out of my lungs.

"I-I guess not..." I started answering, not sure what to make of her curiousity, or where to rest my eyes, for that matter.  
"You guess not? Did it happened and you were not present?", she mildly mocked me. "Sorry, I just couldn't restrain myself from making the joke...", she apologized looking at my puzzled expression and red cheeks.

"Why do you ask me _that_?"  
"Well," she said returning to her pensive mood, "I ask you because... I had... _been_ with guys. I just wanted to be honest from the start; just in case it was important to you...", she said as as-a-matter-of-factedly as she could, but I noticed how she was pressing her right foot toes against her left foot in an effort not to wring her hands while waiting for an answer.

"No, I don't care about things that happened before we even met."  
"So, it's okay with you?", she said revealing a glint of relief.  
"No", I answered sincerely.  
"No? But you just said...", she said dismaying.  
"No, because now I'm jelous that some other guy has had your love, birdie", I said holding a lock of her hair and playfully pulling at it.

* * *

**AAAAAAAAAAAwwwwwwwwwww! XP**

**Do any of you know how to say "queso" in English?**

**Anyway, this was (almost) for laughs; I just needed to upload something before you guys forgot about this story...**


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